Undrunk Rum
by Grey Blade
Summary: She was always there, dressed to the finest with a daze and wistfulness in her eyes. It tore at my heart to know what she was doing; it was mighty obvious. She was waiting. Sparrabeth..I think


**:D This fic shall be in lieu of New Year for ye all, but to me, it's a little Happy Birthday present to myself, having just turned 15 sometime in the past January, so I used a character that always makes an appearance in my fanfics, though with a different name and a slight change in her dialogue to be consistent with the setting. I guess it's **_**her **_**birthday present, too. LOL**

**8******

I knew it was the quaint kind, the moment I got in. Oh sure, bar, wooden tables, the usual fiddle players were there, complete with the big, bald, sinew-bulked guy behind the counter. But there was just this smell that told someone this tavern, right here, didn't belong in Tortuga. Ah well, neither did I. The way I saw it, I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell anywhere else, applying as a waitress I mean.

The smell was lavender I think.

It _seemed _tough enough, to be sure. Like I said, muscle guy and all, and in addition to those, pirates from different reaches of land were here. There was a real clean one, with nothing but a crimson bandana, an eye patch, a wooden hook and the beginnings of some stubble which I imagined he was mighty proud of, what with his jutting it out whenever someone tried to attempt a normal conversation. And he had tooth paint. Real pansy, he was.

As for the others, though. Well I wouldn't call them pansies for the world of me. They had real teeth knocked out, gangrenous faces so grotesque with scars, wounds and bulleted distortions you wouldn't have thought them human, and the smell (although the lavender overpowered it.) Looking at the dirt that actually seemed _accumulated, _I thought it possible that if one of them were soaked in a tub made of carved soap filled with nothing but water and suds, and got out only when a bird finished wearing out a mountain to nothing just by sharpening its beak on its side every once a month, that he still would've looked like he belonged in a pigsty.

I tiptoed my way cautiously at the side, careful not to look anyone in the eye. In the latter part I was successful, except for that real clean guy I mentioned. We looked at each other, him beaming and me with an awkward smile that said 'errr…..", then he unsubtly jutted his chin out, though I'm sure he would've thought he'd done a good job at being humble.

The moment I turned away, a hag was right in front of me. I mean, wow, just…wow. If the pirates around me were just unreasonably ugly, this person in front of me had an ugliness so ineffable I didn't know where to begin describing, so I didn't.

"Err…I'm here to apply for a job," I started tentatively.

"We've been expecting you, dearie." She virtually cackled, featuring an impressive array of slime-covered, grime-dirtied teeth, complete with age-long spinach stuck at the side.

"Uhm, I'm sure you are," I said. Whatever to get me the job.

She hastily pulled me away by the arm. I smiled wincingly. It was a hard task that, I might add. Elongated claws dug deep into my skin despite the muslin shirt and arm bands that decorated it. But my determination to get this job rang true, it seemed, as I managed to not scream out in cringe-worthy pain.

"This here's Fifi," she introduced as we walked pass the multitude of people.

I turned to the direction she indicated, expecting to see a small hyper girl to complete the name, with pigtails, possibly. I was eager about the prospect of having a fellow waitress. And then she talked…

"Hi," said a deep, low, muscular voice. I may have found the source of the lavender.

I was about to stop in my tracks, but there was a miscalculation and my face hit the hard-toned chest of a very large man before I could. When I looked up, as in _up_, there was that large, bald bartender with a sweet, adorable and somewhat innocent smile that belonged to a child that loved things alive and believed in non-violence, not on a man with a body, well with a body as I just depicted.

"Hi…Fifi."

"Well, welcome to the ol' Broken Bottle," he smiled again, making him look irresistibly huggable. "You must be Maria."

"Yes, how did you know?"

All he gave for an answer was a sidelong glance at the hag, who found the time to sit solemnly alone in one corner with a pack of what looked like voodoo tarot cards. "Oh." I decided I wouldn't bother her. I tried to ignore the fact that I might have seen my face on one of those cards.

"Might as well get you started, then," Fifi said as he gestured to behind the counter to welcome me into the numerous bottles and wine glasses. They had an impressive collection, I had to admit. A whole shelf was dedicated to luxury wines that dated back to almost last century, two or three of the other surfaces filled with those that dated back to fifty years. Half of the rest boasted more branded wines. The rest had (and what inn in Tortuga wouldn't?) rum. Some decent and some literally in broken bottles.

I was about to question how they acquired such brands when a twinkle in the corner caught my eye.

I looked and was astounded to see a woman seated in a small corner of the room. Yes, a woman. No, not the ones you'd normally find in a place like this, with curses spewing off of their mouth and their essence being more of a man than most of the port. An actual, socialite, _woman_.

Her dress was a deep burgundy, baring her shoulders and seductively covering her arms with fine silk. Her slender, white skin was accented with trinkets and jewelry that couldn't have been afforded by all of the people in the port. Brown and gold locks were tucked into a messy bun high on her head, with a few strands falling off, as was the insensible fashion these days, with a glittering hair clip. Hers was a poise so well defined, I'd bet that I could fit the straightest of rods on her back, only to find out one had already been there. On the wooden table, deeply contrasting its user with its austerity was a single glass of water.

"Who's she?" My hand nudged at Fifi's hard biceps. He didn't even look up from the alcove he was working on as he answered, obviously already knowing who I was talking about, telling me she must've been pretty well distinct to have a lot of people ask about her. It was the only way he would've known about her; I mean, I'm pretty sure he wasn't a fortune-teller, unless he were a relative of the actual one, which is a scary prospect mind you. "No one knows 'er name," he grunted. "But she comes here everyday."

"_Everyday_, everyday?"

"Yep," was the reply. "For the las' two 'ears."

I turned to him quickly in wide-eyed wonder. "No way, mate. Everyday? For _two years_?"

He looked up at me, smiling sheepishly. "One year, seven months to be exact, but it's as good as the actual two."

My mind drew to a complete blank as I searched its inner reaches for a reply. It was downright impossible. A year and seven months-two years. Every day. It was strange enough to have her presence outshine everything else in this subclass, but to have her here for an indefinite period of time? I scanned the room, expecting to see everyone else share the same bafflement as I, but as I glanced at each face, they confirmed everything.

They were used to her.

Well, they weren't completely used to her being there. Many still stole glances at her; snickers and maliciousness went unnoticed by me. By the way she looked, she apparently knew, too. But her strong spirit prompted no one to even dare think of touching her. But it wasn't just that. She was confident. No one has touched her in the past, no one will touch her now. She knew this because she wasn't an alien presence, though a strange one.

"So, what does she do here?" I asked as I set down my canvas bag on the bottom alcove. Fifi handed me a worn apron. Their best cleaning efforts were evident but splotches of dirt still adorned its cottony fabric. He answered as I tied the strings around my waist. "Just sits aroun'. Orders her lunch at lunchtime, sometimes not. One thing that stays constant is she always orders a tall glass of water, and holds a bottle of rum on standby."

"Rum? Not a Barón de Ley?" I asked. "Of all the things." I shook my head in incredulity. He shook his head, too. All the information he had relayed was a far as it goes. He knew nothing anymore.

"What are you waiting for?" He said laughingly. "You better go and serve, little missy."



She came again the next day. And the following after that. Again and again she came. Again and again she told us to put a bottle of rum on hold. The same table, the same glass of water, the same presence.

She didn't wear the same clothes. Sometimes they were a beautiful emerald, sometimes a midnight blanket of indigo. Her jewelry would regularly shift, too. But no matter what, her opulence would stay constant.

I waited on her for many days until we began seeing each other on a daily basis. She had a kind smile, I learned, and that she loved books. Sometimes she'd bring one along with her. She loved the spring chicken, frequently ordering them..

It was routine, to be sure. Come here, wait and serve, go home. But each day I'd learn a little bit more about her until the finality of it all came to me.

She was waiting for someone.



It's been almost two months now. Today was my last day working in the Broken Bottle. I hated to admit that the place was getting to me more than it should but duty called and all. Family things to do.

I came there from the inn next door the same as always, looking forward to meeting those three people that seemed to have put a permanent impression on me. To be honest , I was enjoying my time here in the Broken Bottle, owing most of the reason to Fifi and her, the rich, wealthy woman. God Almighty, I even looked forward to seeing Hag (In lieu of the fact that she had no name she wished to reveal, I opted to name her myself. She mentioned a sister, whom I have named Hag 2).

Hag greeted me with the same dirty grin and told me that I'd been expected and that they were waiting. It was getting to be a private joke between us…or at least I hoped so. As was habit, she led me through the side of the room to the bar counter, then went to a corner to either read her tarot cards (I've seen my face on one of them on more than one occasion. It still sends shivers down my spine) or scream at unsuspecting persons about their death in excruciating specific detail (i.e. "three weeks, two days, five hours, ten minutes, thirty seconds, 49 milliseconds from now, you will be cleaning your pinky toe with the latest hankie you have, which will be exactly 5 by 5 inches large and…").

"Last day on the job, eh?" Fifi greeted as he handed me my apron. I had left my own mark on it; a tiny char mark on the corner. "But don't think that just because, you get special treatment." He smiled that same affectionate smile.

"Wouldn't have it any other way." I said. He hugged me anyway.

I was left on my own as he went to work on the lids and caps. Mornings didn't usually hold many people. The Stubble Man had returned, but he was left ignored by me. Hag can serve him for all the care in my system. One table was occupied by an alleged group of the first ever pirate-merchants, who in all honesty looked like a circus act gone wrong, especially with make-up.

And of course there was the corner table. She always got there earlier than I did.

My last day of serving her. Somehow, the world seemed like a duller prospect now that the thought came. It was my last chance of plucking out a bit more of her person. All the mystery about her was still unraveled and now was my only chance to know a little further. I was the pupil and she was the fun subject that I needed to learn. Each alluring unknown about her became a mild addiction for me. Even her name was unknown to me. I made it a goal to find out today.

But more than that, I wanted to tell her desperately ever since realizing what she was doing, my exact feelings for the whole concept of the situation. What she was doing. The waiting. To knock some sense into her would be one of the many things I wanted to be left done like a waiting legacy, only on a much smaller scale. Maybe I'd change her life, for all I know, though that was too self-serving.

One look at Fifi, who was working with bottle corks at the far end, told me I also had a duty to the customers. Her table was still empty and expecting its glass of water for the day. This was an opportunity.

I quickly filled up a tall glass of water, marched right up to her.

"He's never going to come you know," I said pointedly as I set down the glass.

It didn't seem as though she was offended by my bold statement. In fact, she looked up from the book she was reading, _Heated Oceans_, and smiled kindly. "Maybe he will, maybe he won't."

"But you've sitting here for _two years_," I held up two fingers for emphasis. "I think it's downright blatant and obvious you've been stood up."

"Oh." Her face still looked my way, but her eyes fell down in what looked like wistfulness. "I don't blame him anyway. We…Didn't exactly have an agreement."

My eyes widened further. "So…you don't even know if he's coming here?"

"I don't even know if he'll go to this place," she laughed. Then her eyes scanned the room. "But it does seem like the sort of place he'd go to for a break, and that would be the only reason he'd be wrenched from the sea."

"Oh, so your man's a pirate?" It made sense now, why a woman of her class would be here. Love. Love for a pirate. Now I was a big fan of forbidden romances, and this couple wasn't the strangest I've seen anyway, but it was an interesting thing to see in real life.

"Yes."

Deciding to be bold again, I asked, "So…what's his name?"

Her smile told me she was glad someone had asked her the question, as if it was a deep relief. "Jack Sparrow."

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"Well I wouldn't expect you to; you're not from around here, are you?" She said.

"Nope, mate."

My hands shot to my mouth as I realized what I called her. Blood pounded quickly into my cheeks turning me a bright crimson. I mumbled an apology but I expect it'd been muffled with my hands.

"S'alright." She was laughing, but in a kind, not embarrassing way. "It's your last day anyway, or so I've heard."

I nodded meekly as I set my arms down. "Yeah, so I think I should tell you now since it's as you say; better go get yourself a different man. Someone sure to come to you."

Her wistful smile lit up again, but a forlorn and long-ago dream set in her eyes. "I know it's strange to say, but there already is."

The urge to make a low whistle had to be fought down to suppression. This woman was a vixen, she was. But it wasn't my place to pry any further about things concerning that.

"But..I won't be seeing him for a long time."

"S'not like you'll see your other man any time sooner, either," I pointed out.

"True," she said. "But it doesn't hurt to hope. I know he'll come. I can feel it in my bones."

I nodded in understanding. I didn't completely know her yet, but at least I knew enough. I asked no more.



The trudge through the violent streets of Tortuga was a dangerous one. A calamity of rogues and pirates had spilled out, as was it always. It was a grand adventure, seeing faces wealthy with the sea their love for life. It was a refreshing one, the sight. Tavern lights compensated for the lack of sunlight, dimming everything to a golden glow. The usual fiddles were heard, fast and chirping, never slow. I had to swerve low to avoid a row of men using a fat baron as a ram to break a brick wall. Everywhere you went, there was shouting and cursing, articulating the fire that was Tortuga. It was possible today was the last moment I'd see that flame.

As I dodged a narrow bullet, I found myself immediately behind a stout man. He was talking to a mob of other sailors, who were listening to his tale in delight. "Aye, great death it was."

Feeling that it was my last time anyway, I inquired as to what he was talking about.

"Sorry to hear that." Everyone turned to me in surprise. But I was regarded as just another lass poking into things she shouldn't so there was no comment about my brave involvement. "How did he die?"

The stout man was none too obliged to answer. He turned to me, revealing a dirtied face, and large, white side burns and a benevolent smile for all. "Well, y'see, he died about a year or two ago. My memory fails me on that. I was his first mate, did me mighty proud as a pirate, he did. But y'see lass, there comes a time in a man's life when he searches for something more, something _deeper_."

A wave of comprehension filled me. "He was going to propose."

"Aye, lass. But a Spanish armada caught up with him halfway through Florida. He got to escape, abandoned ship as a fierce canon blew our ship to bits, but swam straight into shark territory. Not a good one, as he was bloody covered in blood."

"Oh, how dreadful," I said sincerely. "What was his name?"

"I expect you to know him," he said with a wink. "He was the great Captain Jack Sparrow."

My heart fell and it was then I remembered I didn't ask for her name. And now it was too late.



Elizabeth walked home. She'd come to Tortuga with straight shoulders and a feint hope, and she'd walk back with a bit more droop in her arms and a little more trudge in her step. But she'd come back anyway. That girl, Maria, was right. How was she so sure about his coming? He didn't even know where she'd be.

She looked back at the flickering lights of Tortuga from the steep uphill of the mountain road. Just a few more days of waiting….He'd come for sure.

8

**I hoped you all liked that . **

**Please review and point out the mistakes I made. To be edited later coz' I know the latter sucks.**

**Flames are welcome, praises are adored, constructive criticism is encouraged. **


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